


I Just Want to Start a Flame In Your Heart

by Gwyn_Paige



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Inspired by Music, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwyn_Paige/pseuds/Gwyn_Paige
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes, somewhat related, featuring love songs that have been a part of MacCready's and Violet's lives, past and present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Want to Start a Flame In Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a shameless excuse to write stuff about my favorite Fallout songs, with my favorite Fallout characters. I didn't exactly keep the songs consistent with the radio stations they'd be playing from (there are songs from New Vegas in here), but let's just pretend distance isn't a thing. I've also made a list in the end notes of all the songs I used, in case y'all are curious. Enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day to all you beautiful people. <3  
> PS: I love Lucy way too much. Please allow me to indulge in this.  
> PPS: Violet Hughes is my Sole's name, being amazing is her game. I also love her way too much.

Violet’s lounging in a chair on the porch of her house in Diamond City when it comes on the radio for the first time since she woke up in this godforsaken Wasteland. The gentle strums of guitar catch her attention first, the chords familiar in the way a well-worn jacket is familiar, and then the piano, creeping up slowly in the background, crescendoing to a voice, a male falsetto, crooning words she still knows by heart:

_Maybe_

_You’ll think of me_

_When you are all alone_

_Maybe_

_The one who is waiting for you_

_Will prove untrue_

_Then what will you do?_

She catches herself humming along as the song continues, but stops halfway through the first verse when she feels a tightening in her chest, like a knot’s been tied around her lungs. She doesn’t want to remember the reason it sits there for the rest of the song, but the memories come all the same.

Flowers everywhere, red and white, halfway to wilting but nobody gives a damn at the time. James’ hand on her waist, her makeup smearing on his shoulder as she laughs into it. She forgets what she was laughing about, now; and of course that’d be the thing, wouldn’t it. All the bad memories that get driven up and she can’t even get one laugh out of them.

What she does remember is the music, thick and wonderful in the air, like suffocating but in a good way, and James’ warm, wide hand on her waist, her lipstick ruining his jacket but really, that’s the tux rental place’s job to worry about. She remembers thinking, These are gonna be the best years of our lives, as James dips her low.

Back in the Wasteland, as the last few strums of the guitar fade away to radio silence, Violet rubs a hand across her face and finds it wet, tracks of tears down her cheeks, ruining her mascara (she’s the only woman she knows who still uses mascara). Cursing, she scrubs at her eyes and face until they’re dry again, and switches the radio off.

That’s the frustrating thing about a catchy song, Violet thinks, fumbling for a cigarette. You dance to it at your wedding once, and you can’t fucking get it out of your head.

* * *

When MacCready first met her, way back in Lamplight, Lucy’s favorite song on Galaxy News Radio was “Crazy He Calls Me.” Well, for the first ten minutes, anyway.

She quickly switched it to “A Wonderful Guy” the second she heard it. Two days after that, “Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall” came on, and that was her new favorite. Then, sure enough, a few weeks later, she heard “Let’s Go Sunning” and it changed once again. She stuck with that one for longer than the others; for weeks afterwards, if you walked by her office when the radio was playing it, you could peek in and see her dancing along to it, the radio volume up as high as the dingy little machine could handle, Lucy spinning around the empty room, occasionally mouthing the lyrics or, more commonly, belting them at the top of her lungs. She’d usually get in trouble for doing this really early in the morning, when the other kids were trying to sleep. (On one memorable occasion, she and Princess had gotten into a shouting match about it at around three in the morning—something about Lucy attracting the attention of supermutants if she carried on like she was. MacCready had had to intervene, but not before half the kids were already out of bed and placing bets on who would win if the fight got physical.)

Inevitably, Lucy’s pick changed again when Three Dog expanded his library a bit, her new string of favorites starting with “Atom Bomb Baby” and winding its way to “Accentuate the Positive” and eventually even “Jingle Jangle Jingle” (which was played so many times in succession that even Lucy got sick of it within a week—the fact that all the other kids got sick of it within a day was beside the point).

And just when it seemed like Lucy would never be able to pick an actual favorite that she could hold onto for more than a week at a time, a chorus of violin strings burst out of the static of the radio speakers.

MacCready was there when she heard it for the first time. They were just teenagers back then, about thirteen or fourteen maybe, and he’d been hanging out in Lucy’s office all morning while she took inventory (which she hated doing, but, as she told him, somebody had to do it, and anyway, if RJ was going to bother her, it’d be best to do it while she wasn’t stitching up somebody’s leg). They were talking about something unimportant, probably, and MacCready was probably saying something stupid and trying to hide his burgeoning crush, when the song came on the radio, and Lucy motioned for him to stop talking.

MacCready was, to his knowledge, the only person who had ever borne witness to such an event. Lucy’s eyes got wide and her mouth snapped shut, and after a few seconds, she lunged for the radio and spun the volume knob up to ten, just as the chorus started:

_Love me_

_As though there were no tomorrow_

_Take me_

_Out of this world tonight_

_Take me_

_Make me forget my sorrow_

_So when I wake tomorrow_

_I’ll know our love was right_

Neither of them said one word for the remainder of the song. They sat in silence, MacCready perched on the edge of Lucy’s desk, Lucy leaning forward in her chair towards the radio like a flower towards the sun.

MacCready watched her face, and even if he’d been pretty young and stupid at the time, he knew in that moment for certain that he was looking at someone falling in love.

* * *

Violet’s absolute least favorite song in the world was “Johnny Guitar,” which of course meant that James loved it. Which of course meant that James, being James, would play it all the goddamn time just to make her mad.

“Hey Vi,” he’d call from the kitchen in the evenings, cooking their dinner while Violet looked over papers from work in the study. “Guess what just came on the radio!”

And Violet would put down her pen and groan, as James cranked up the volume high enough to just about bring the house down, and the song started on its slow, slow trek to the finish line:

_Play the guitar_

_Play it again_

_My Johnny_

_Maybe you’re cold_

_But you’re so warm inside_

_I was always a fool_

_For my Johnny_

_For the one they call_

_Johnny Guitar_

No amount of shouting back and forth between rooms would get either of them to concede defeat. Violet also discovered that bargaining sexual favors or dishwashing duty were equally ineffective; James just really, genuinely fucking loved the song. (She did, however, figure that he blasted it purely to annoy her, otherwise he’d just play it at a volume humans could actually stand without their ears bleeding, but she never could prove it.) Eventually, after approximately two thousand years, the song would end and the radio would play something infinitely better.

But then one evening, a few months after Shaun was born, when James wasn’t in the kitchen but instead curled up on the sofa, head in his hands and saying stupid, stupid things like “I can’t be there for him,” “They can’t make me go back there, I won’t let them,” “I’m not leaving you again,” Violet slowly got up and walked over to the holotape player.

And while Johnny played his guitar, for the next hundred years, they held each other as the sun went down on the other side of the living room window.

* * *

MacCready doesn’t know exactly where Violet’s been all day—she’d left that morning telling him she was “going on a solo mission for secret reasons,” which he’s learned is typical Violet behavior that he shouldn’t question—but when she bursts through the front door of their house in Diamond City covered in blood, dirt, and sand, he figures the questions can wait.

“Oh my God,” MacCready says, and leaps up from the couch to usher Violet—who doesn’t seem bothered at all by her injuries—through the door and over to a chair. “Violet, what the hell _happened_ —”

“Mac, relax,” Violet says, shaking herself out of his grip. When he gives her an incredulous look, she says, “Mac, I’m not hurt. The blood isn’t mine.”

MacCready blinks, looking down at her jacket. Sure enough, it’s covered in blood, but there aren’t any bullet holes in it or claw marks, just the usual wear and tear. He suddenly feels very stupid. “Oh.”

She chuckles at him. “You’re all concerned about me. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” MacCready mutters, pulling his cap over his eyes. Violet kisses his cheek. He’s not blushing.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me where the blood actually came from?” Violet says as she wanders over to the couch and starts digging through her backpack like she’s looking for something.

“What I really wanna ask is what the hell you were doing that would cause you to get covered in someone else’s blood,” he says, sitting down next to her.

“All in good time,” she says. “I ran into a couple of raiders on the way to my destination, that’s all.”

“The secret destination I’m not allowed to know about?”

“That’s the one. They got a little too close and their blood ruined my jacket.” She frowns down at it, then goes back to rummaging through her bag. A few seconds later, she grins wide. “Ah, _there_ it is!”

From her bag she pulls out a small holotape, its casing dirty and scratched. Pre-war, then. She hands it to MacCready like she’s presenting him with an award. He takes it, turning it over in his hands a few times, not completely sure how she expects him to react. “Uh . . . thanks, Vi.”

Violet cackles. “You don’t even know what it is! Here, I’ll make it easier for you.” She takes the holotape back and slides it into her Pip Boy, pressing a couple of buttons on it before the tape starts to play. To MacCready’s surprise, it’s music, some catchy rock song he’s heard on the radio a couple of times before.

_You can run like a rabbit_

_Fly like a bee_

_No matter what you do_

_You’ll never get away from me_

_Because I’m_

_Right behind you baby_

_Right behind you baby_

MacCready smiles, nodding along to the beat of the music. Not everything on the radio is his thing, but he genuinely likes this song. He wonders how Violet knew, because he doesn’t remember ever mentioning it before. Let alone how she got ahold of a holotape of it.

When the song finishes, Violet says, “I used to own that holotape, back in my old house in Sanctuary Hills. Had a feeling it’d still be there, so today I made the trip. Turns out I was right. Thank god it still works.”

“Wait,” MacCready says, slowly connecting the dots in his head, “you hiked all the way back to Sanctuary Hills to get this for me?”

Violet nods.

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause you said you liked rock music,” Violet says. “Remember? You mentioned it that night at the Third Rail a while back. The night we danced.”

He does remember that. God, that was before they were together. It must’ve been months ago by now. “You remembered what I said?” That was just impressive; she’d been drunker than he was.

“Hell yes,” Violet says. “I remember everything. You are dealing with a woman who never forgets, Robert Joseph MacCready.”

“Ugh,” he said, pulling his cap down. “Don’t call me Robert.”

 _“Roo-ooobert,”_ Violet sing-songs.

“Why do you love torturing me.”

“ ‘Cause it’s so easy.”

“. . . Fair enough.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a minute or two, and then MacCready says, “Hey Vi?”

“Yeah?”

“Play the song again.”

She grins, and the sound of drums fills the air.

* * *

They’re sitting at the bar in the Third Rail, MacCready and her, having drinks and a laugh, when Magnolia starts belting one of her hits. Violet finds herself grinning; she loves what Magnolia’s singing does to the atmosphere of the bar. It makes it so much richer, somehow. She swears her whiskey tastes better.

When Magnolia finishes the first song, her rich voice falling away with a flourish of cymbals, Violet puts down her glass and claps. “D’you like jazz, Mac?” she asks, offhandedly.

In her peripheral she sees him shake his head. “Not really.”

She looks over at him incredulously. “You serious?” She’s never met anyone from the Wasteland who doesn’t like jazz. She’s had the radio on her Pip Boy playing nonstop for months now and MacCready’s never even said anything.

“I mean, it’s alright,” MacCready says, shrugging, “but I’m more of a rock ‘n’ roll fan myself.”

Violet nods in understanding, making a mental note of it. “Fair enough. To each his own, yeah?”

MacCready smiles at her, letting his teeth show, for once. They’re crooked and a couple of them are missing, but in Violet’s opinion they give him character. He raises his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

She meets his toast and they finish off their drinks. Off in her corner of the bar, Magnolia starts a new song, bouncy and upbeat.

_Like an earthquake_

_Startin’ to roll_

_I felt my world shake_

_Out of control_

_Like a World War startin’ to brew_

_Baby, it’s just you_

Almost without realizing it, Violet starts tapping her foot and humming along. She’s on the far side of tipsy by now, and the song’s so fun and catchy, how could she not want to get up and dance?

Oh boy. She wants to get up and _dance_.

“Mac!” she says, too loudly, grabbing his arm, already halfway out of her seat. “Come on and dance with me.”

MacCready laughs for a second, but once he sees she’s serious, his eyebrows knit together. He’s so cute, Violet thinks. “No thanks, I’m good.”

“Aw, please?” Violet says, tugging on his arm. “I bet you’re a great dancer.”

He shakes his head. “I’m godawful. Two left feet and all that. You should go dance, though. You’re probably great.”

Violet shakes her head vehemently. No, that won’t do at all. “I can’t dance _alone_ , you nit. I’ll look dumb.”

“You won’t look dumb, Vi. It’ll look dumb if I’m stumbling all over the place and weighing you down.”

Violet wants to punch him. Or kiss him. Or both, one right after the other. “Mac, I swear to all that is holy on god’s green earth, if you don’t get off of that stool and dance with me right now, I’m going to bring Danse with me on my next mission instead of you.”

MacCready’s eyes get wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“I _would_.” Maybe. She and Danse don’t have much in common. Or anything at all, really. She doubts he’d even come with her if she asked. But that doesn’t matter now. The song’s halfway over, and she wants MacCready to dance with her, dammit.

For a second, MacCready looks like he’s trying to choose between facing a raging deathclaw or a group of raiders, but eventually he grabs her hand and lets her lead him over to an empty patch of floor in front of the makeshift bandstand.

“I hope you appreciate me for this,” he says as Violet takes his hands and they start moving to the beat of the music.

“Hell yes I do,” she says. Oh, does she ever. “You’re not that bad of a dancer,” she says, because he really isn’t. She’s no expert, but MacCready seems to be handling himself just fine. Two left feet, my ass, she thinks.

MacCready ducks his eyes beneath his cap, but he’s doing his toothy smile again. “Thanks, Vi.”

The song ends a couple minutes later, and they clap for Magnolia, who smiles at them appreciatively. (When MacCready’s back is turned, she gives Violet a wink. Violet grins back and gives her a thumbs up.)

They go back to the bar for more drinks, and a little later, Violet catches MacCready humming along to one of Magnolia’s songs. She smiles into her beer and doesn’t say a word.

* * *

By MacCready’s count, they hadn’t drank clean water in two days, and hadn’t eaten anything more substantial than dry crackers in three. It had been a week and a half since they’d seen a settlement. They hadn’t said a word to each other in six hours.

Lucy was terrified. MacCready knew this because he was also terrified. It was like a part of their physical existence now. They were sunburned, and they were covered in sand and dust, and their feet ached, and they were terrified. The Capital Wasteland was more unforgiving than either of them had ever expected. It was so much worse than having to pick off wild animals and supermutants and raiders before they got close to you—it was about survival, pure and simple, and the Capital Wasteland was not a place made for survival.

They’d been wandering aimlessly for days now, in the vague hope that they’d reach another settlement, or at least someplace with other human beings. But the horizon stretching out ahead of them was empty, and MacCready was starting to lose hope. He suspected Lucy was feeling the same way, so he’d been trying to keep a front of optimism to keep the both of them going. It was getting harder by the day, though, and he knew that something had to give eventually. Either they found civilization first, or they did something desperate.

As they came to the top of a shallow hill, MacCready spotted a rocky outcropping a few yards ahead of them. He motioned to Lucy to stand guard, and she nodded, already understanding what he was going to do. MacCready approached the outcropping and knelt down, peering over the edge of it to see what might be underneath.

He almost cheered out loud when he saw the telltale structure of iron scaffolding and bars that usually constituted a raider hideout. If he just waited them out up here, he could pick them off with his rifle one by one as they came and went, and within a day him and Lucy would have the hideout—and the loot—all to themselves.

But as MacCready surveyed the hideout with a sharper eye, he could see that the thing had probably been abandoned for some time. There were no actual raiders guarding it, for one thing, and no evidence of people having recently lived there. Still, there was a fridge and a few lockboxes, which might still hold loot, and a few cots, which would be a welcome change from sleeping on the ground.

All in all, it was worth going down there, if only so they’d have shelter for the night. MacCready stood up and beckoned Lucy over so she could see, too.

He didn’t even have to explain what his plan was; she knew it as soon as she saw the abandoned hideout. She looked at him and nodded, and they started off back down the hill so they could get around to the other side without having to climb down the outcropping.

The first thing MacCready did once they got down there was check the fridge and lockboxes—all empty. He felt his heart sink a little further down in his chest, but didn’t let it show. Instead, he pulled over two cots and laid them out side-by-side, a makeshift bed, and started taking inventory out of what was left in his backpack. Plenty of ammo, but no food. Lot of good that would do them if they starved.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lucy poking around the piles of junk left by the raiders. He felt his chest tighten; Lucy was strong, probably stronger than him, but even she had her limits, and MacCready wouldn’t know what to do if he lost her. Lucy was the main reason he was still holding onto this pipe dream of making it to another big city without getting killed or starving to death or dying of radiation poisoning. If they could just make it to another settlement, they’d be okay. It was the matter of getting there that was slowly eating away at both of them.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Lucy coming over to the cots with something in her hand—a radio. She sat down next to him and started to fiddle with the dial, a familiar action he’d seen her do a hundred times before back in Lamplight, but it was almost foreign with the backdrop of the sunset and rocks. That was when he realized—he hadn’t heard the radio since they left.

“Do you think it still works?” he said, surprised by how scratchy his voice sounded from disuse.

As though in answer, static burst out of the speakers, and Lucy smiled triumphantly. “Apparently,” she said, voice equally scratchy, but warm around her smile. She went back to the dial, turning it carefully, trying for a better signal. Gradually, out of the static, other sounds emerged; faintly, they heard the familiar strains of violins.

Lucy sucked in a breath, and twisted the dial even more slowly to get as little static as possible. The music got louder and louder, and eventually they could hear the words, static in the background but clear nonetheless:

_Kiss me_

_As though it were now or never_

_Teach me_

_All that a heart should know_

_Love me_

_As though there were no tomorrow_

_Oh, my darling_

_Love me_

_Don’t ever let me go_

Lucy’s favorite song.

MacCready looked over at her as the song played, and saw that she was staring at the radio, eyes shining with tears. He reached over and took her hand, and she grasped back tightly. They were silent until the song ended, just like they’d been years ago, when Lucy had heard it for the first time.

As the song faded away and the next one started playing, something more jazzy and upbeat that MacCready had never heard before, Lucy turned to face him. Her face was still wet, MacCready noted, but she was smiling.

“We’re gonna be okay, RJ,” Lucy said.

He nodded. He didn’t know what else to do. “I know,” he lied.

Lucy shook her head, her eyes kind. “No, you don’t. But I do. And I’m telling you, right now, that we’re going to be okay.”

MacCready didn’t know if Lucy was as certain as she sounded, but the way she was smiling, happier than he’d seen her in weeks, he figured they could both stand to pretend for a while that what she said was true.

He pulled her into a hug, which she willingly returned. Together, they watched the sunset as the radio sat at their feet and faintly played.

* * *

The sun blinds her almost immediately after she exits Vault 111.

For a disorienting second, she’s convinced that the bomb’s still exploding, and it’s six inches in front of her face. All she can see is white, until after a few seconds her eyes adjust, and then the view is a million times worse.

She heads down the hill that leads back to her street, the old dirt path almost nonexistent now, and gets a lovely view of all that’s left of the world.

Boston is in ruins in the distance. Her neighborhood’s been reduced to dilapidated houses and rusty cars. There is no sound except a whistling wind, blowing through the broken windows of hollow homes.

Shaun is gone. James is dead.

She sits down on the front steps of someone else’s house (she doesn’t want to look at hers yet) and tries to think. Tries to rationally understand and quantify what is happening to her. Where she is, who she is. She’s not completely sure. She tries to parse out the facts.

Violet, she thinks. Your name is Violet Hughes, née Violet Sano. You’re from Los Angeles, California, and your parents are from Osaka, Japan. They came to America for a new life, and for new money. They named you Violet because they wanted you to have an American name. Now you live in Boston, Massachusetts. Boston, Massachusetts was blown up by nuclear bombs.

You have a son named Shaun. He likes picture books and crib mobiles and the color green. He’s been taken away by people in white labcoats.

You married a man named James Hughes. He liked strawberry shortcake and lifting weights and game shows. He was shot by people in white labcoats.

On her wrist, her Pip Boy beeps. She’d almost forgotten about it. She turns the dial and sees the message: _Diamond City radio signal detected._ For lack of anything better to do, she taps on it.

The speakers on her Pip Boy crackle to life, and the strains of violins fill the air. Soon after, a voice joins in:

_Why does the sun go on shining?_

_Why does the sea rush to shore?_

_Don’t they know_

_It’s the end of the world_

_‘Cause you don’t love me anymore_

_Why do the birds go on singing?_

_Why do the stars glow above?_

_Don’t they know_

_It’s the end of the world_

_It ended when I lost your love_

And suddenly Violet can’t take it anymore. She puts her head in her hands and she sobs, and when the song fades away and the next one begins, she doesn’t stop.

Eventually, when her eyes go dry and she can’t cry anymore, she switches off the Pip Boy, her hands shaking. She looks up at what remains of the Boston skyline, at the broken telephone poles, at the too-red sky, at the scraggly, lifeless trees.

“What the fuck am I gonna do now,” Violet says to the empty houses. Nothing answers her but the howling of the wind.

* * *

“C’mon, please?” Lucy gave his sleeve another insistent tug.

“No way.”

“RJ, you promised.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.”

Lucy huffed at him, and turned back to the radio, fiddling with the dial to try for a better signal. “If you’re not gonna dance, then you don’t get to hang out in here during my working hours anymore, RJ.”

“What?” MacCready swiveled in her direction from where he was perched on the desk, which he’d basically claimed as his spot in Lucy’s office.

“You heard me,” she said flippantly. “You’re distracting me anyhow. I’d get a lot more work done if you didn’t come knocking on my door every ten minutes.”

“Thought you _liked_ it when I distracted you,” MacCready muttered. Then, louder, he said, “Besides, you can’t _ban_ me, I’m the one in charge of everything.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Really? You’re gonna play the mayor card with me? _How_ many times have we made out now—”

“Oh- _kay_ then, Lucy, come on, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Lucy sighed, acquiescing. “Yeah, I know.” She turned away from the radio to face him. “And I’m not gonna ban you. Though I probably could, even if you _are_ mayor.”

MacCready knew when he was fighting a losing battle. Besides, she was right. For as long as he’d known her, Lucy had never given in to anybody. “Yeah, you probably could.”

“I just kind of wish you hadn’t made a promise to dance with me and then ten minutes later decide to take it back.” Lucy was looking down and away from him.

For an agonizing moment, MacCready set aside his pride. “Lucy, I’m not good at dancing. _You’re_ the one who’s good at dancing, I’d just trip all over you.”

She gave him a look.

MacCready shifted uncomfortably on the desk. “What?”

She kept looking.

“I mean, I’m trying to spare you getting your toes all smashed up.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“You’re really good, Lucy, honestly I’d rather just watch you.”

She was tapping her foot now.

He groaned. “Argh, fine. Just . . . go easy on me, alright?”

“Yes!” Lucy laughed triumphantly, giving MacCready a squeezing hug that almost had him falling off the desk before turning back to the radio. “Here, wait, let me see what Three Dog’s playing now.”

Reluctantly, MacCready hopped back down to the floor, fidgeting on the spot as Lucy spun the dial. Almost immediately, the sound of loud brass and drums crackled through the speakers, filling the tiny office with music.

_The room was completely black_

_I hugged her and she hugged back_

_Like the sailor said, quote,_

_Ain’t that a hole in the boat?_

_My head keeps spinnin’_

_I go to sleep and keep grinnin’_

_If this is just the beginnin’_

_My life is gonna be_

_Bea-u-tiful_

“So . . . what do I do?” MacCready asked, but Lucy was one step ahead of him. She took his right hand and moved it to her waist, and put her own right hand on his shoulder.

“This is how they do waltzes and things like that,” Lucy explained, linking their left hands together and holding them off to the side. “I saw it on a holotape once. But we can still do it with a faster song.”

They started by kind of shuffling side to side to the beat of the song, turning in a gradual circle. MacCready was a little nervous about messing something up, so he let Lucy lead at first, but soon enough the bouncy beat of the song got to him, and he started trying different moves, leading the two of them in a bigger circle around the room and moving his feet in different ways. He even spun Lucy around a couple times, eliciting her surprised laughter.

When the song ended, he tried dipping her, but something went wrong on the way down and they both ended up on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Eventually, once they’d calmed down, Lucy wrapped him tightly in a hug, right there on the floor. “Hey RJ?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I got you.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Same here, Lucy. Same here.”

* * *

He’s passing by a house in some tiny settlement, nowhere special, Violet a few yards ahead of him scouting the area for loose loot, when he hears it for the first time since Lucy died.

Coming from an unseen radio, a chorus of violins floats through the open windows of the house. MacCready stops, listens, hears the words he’s never going to be able to forget.

_Oh, my darling_

_Love me_

_Don’t ever let me go_

A few minutes later, when he hasn’t moved, Violet turns around. “C’mon, Mac, what are you waiting—” She stops. “Shit, Mac, are you okay?”

He scrubs at his eyes, and finds them wet. “I’m—” He takes a breath. He looks at Violet, her eyebrows knitted with concern, the mascara on her eyes barely starting to smear, the freckles on her cheeks pronounced in the sunlight. He wipes at his eyes again until they’re dry. The radio’s playing something else now, something upbeat, with trumpets. He remembers Lucy’s face the first time she heard her absolute favorite song. He remembers the wooden soldier Violet still keeps in her breast pocket, over her heart.

“It’s okay,” he says. He takes Violet’s hand, and she gives it a squeeze, still looking concerned. He kisses her cheek. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Violet nods slowly, and they continue walking, and she doesn’t let his hand go.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs used, in order:  
> 1\. "Maybe" by The Ink Spots  
> 2\. "Love Me As Though There Were No Tomorrow" by Nat King Cole  
> 3\. "Johnny Guitar" by Peggy Lee  
> 4\. "Right Behind You Baby" by Ray Smith  
> 5\. "Baby It's Just You" by Magnolia/Lynda Carter  
> 6\. "The End of the World" by Skeeter Davis (Fun fact: The first time I finished the intro of the game, I turned on the radio and this started playing. The timing was perfect and heartbreaking, so naturally I had to incorporate that moment into the fic. Poor Vi.)  
> 7\. "Ain't That a Kick in the Head" by Dean Martin
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


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